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"Are you answered?" said Jonathan, with a grin worthy of a demon. Satisfied he was immobilised for the moment, Melusine fell to her knees beside Jack, dragging at his suddenly heavy body to turn it on its back. Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid. "At all hazards then then you shall know the truth," replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude,—"but are you really prepared?" "Quite—quite!" replied Winifred. "Patience Kite has lured him to Enfield on a false scent after Blueskin. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced. Stanley lost patience. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room. " "You have always spoken it?" "Yes; except for some native. “Go it, miss!” cried one. Sheppard.
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